by S. T. Boston
“Goodness, no,” she said and clasped her hands together. “It was a local church, I’m sure you know that. I’d imagine a man of your experience has done his research? I also know a fair few of Sue and Tom’s guests have left early, but they never said why. Just called, said they were leaving and left me the key under the front mat.”
“Well two of those guests went on to kill themselves, one drowned her baby in the bath before she took her own life; and those are just a few of the strange deaths that seem to be linked to that place. I know it was never officially a church,” he added. “I was wondering if you could shed some light on that?”
Lucinda shifted in her seat and glanced to her husband, possibly the first tell of a question she didn’t feel comfortable with. “I knew the Minister, yes.” She said tentatively.
“Deviss,” Mike cut in.
She nodded, “That’s right. My parents, both passed on some years back, they were never what you’d call churchy people if you get me. I went there once or twice as a child with my mother, doing the neighbourly bit – you know? And used to look in on Johnathan now and again before that terrible fire. Take him the odd meal, he was a lovely man, but he’d retired by then. As for the deaths you mentioned, it all sounds very tragic but not something I know anything about.”
“And you never found it odd that the church didn’t appoint a new Minister? That Mr. Deviss just kept right on living there?”
“I never gave it a second thought if I’m honest. My mother told me he owned the building, I think - if I remember correctly, it was some years ago now.” She paused as if pondering the problem, then concluded, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cross I am far from an expert on the legalities of such things.”
If I’m honest, quite often another little tell that whoever said it was being far from honest. “I see,” Mike said slowly. “I was hoping you could help me with that, but I guess not. I was counting on the old small village stereotype, everyone knowing everyone else’s business.”
Lucinda smiled wanly, “We do get a little of that, yes. But I’m sorry this isn’t a subject I’m that good on.”
“Do you think any of the other villagers would be able to help, someone in Trellen must have worshipped there?”
“The minister retired some time before the fire back in two thousand and eight, you could try but I really don’t know. After all that has happened these past few days you might find them reluctant to talk, a thing like this affects small communities like ours, we are not used to such tragedy. The fire was bad enough, now all this business with those poor kids.”
Mike nodded and took a slow deep breath then said, “Well it seems like all that I’ve managed to do is interrupt your day and draw another blank.”
Lucinda’s smile spread and turned warm, “Nonsense,” she beamed. “It’s really no bother at all, Mr. Cross. And please accept our apologies if we seemed a little hostile to begin with. We have had police and press here knocking the door relentlessly since Saturday morning, so no offence taken I hope."
Mike held his hands up, “None whatsoever,” he said and stood up. Both Lucinda and Seth Horner followed suit. “Look, I'll get out of your hair. The team and I will be moving in there when the police have finished with the place, hopefully, sooner rather than later. We can work on explaining some of the things that have been reported there and fingers-crossed put both Sue and Tom’s mind at rest.” He paused, he knew what he’d wanted to get into this conversation before he’d arrived, and the subject seemed to lead naturally on from what he’d just said. He walked out of the room and they followed. As Mike reached the front door he added, “And maybe I can figure out just how those kids got out of the building.” He stopped with a hand on the black, wrought iron handle and turned back to face them. “Do you have an opinion on that, seeing as you’re the main caretaker? I mean it doesn’t make sense to me. The place was locked down, windows shut and latched closed, and the doors, both front, and back, dead bolted from the inside. It's one of the main reasons that the parents have fallen under suspicion. I happen to know the lead investigator on this case, and he has said, off the record mind you, that he doesn’t believe for a second that the parents were responsible for whatever happened, you tend to get a feel for such things in this profession.”
“It’s a mystery,” Lucinda answered. “All I know is what I said, they seemed like nice people. But, as I said, you never can tell. I believe occam’s razor suggests that the simplest and most logical explanation tends to be the right one. I’m far from an expert but going by that rule it would seem to suggest that for whatever God-awful reason Carol and Rob Harrison took those kids out of that building last Friday night. Then after whatever happened went back in and locked and deadbolted the doors."
Mike cracked the door open and stepped out into the sun, he shook his head and said, "Nah, I don't buy it, not one bit. I've not been able to get too involved in this yet, but I know, and so does the DI in charge, even if he won't admit it," Mike smiled to himself, "that something is being missed on this one." He scratched the back of his head, the way Columbo, the old TV detective sometimes would before a big reveal. Mike didn't have shit to reveal yet, but he was working on it. “You see the beauty of being freelance and not governed by the ways and methods of the police is I can look at this in a way they don’t, won’t and would never dream of.” He smiled confidently at them both and backed away from the door. “I’ll be sure to let you know just as soon as I do figure it out.”
“It would be appreciated, Mr. Cross,” Lucinda said, and he detected a very mild note of sourness to her voice, so mild that he might have imagined it, but he didn’t think so.
“I’ll see you both again, I’m sure and thanks again to you both for your time.” He reached the Jeep and opened the driver’s door.
Seth and Lucinda had come out to the forecourt now and were stood with him by the car. “It’s really no bother,” Seth Horner said. He gave Mike a parting handshake before Mike got in, started the engine and drove off. He looked in the rear-view, they stayed out on the forecourt watching him, and he watched them until he reached the first bend in their long drive and they both disappeared from view.
At the road Mike allowed himself a steadying breath, if they were involved then that had been a dangerous move, but he’d felt confident that they wouldn’t risk doing anything stupid and casting the spotlight onto themselves and the village, not when it had been so skilfully misdirected away and onto Rob and Carol Harrison.
From the glovebox, he fished out the small handheld FM receiver, the one that went with his bug. The bug was set to 90Mhz and could be picked up by any FM radio, but it had a small encryption that scrambled it for regular receivers. The one he now held decrypted it so only he could hear. Steadying the steering wheel with the back of his hand he clicked it on. The receiver was set to the correct frequency already, he’d tested it before arriving. He cranked up the volume to full as he passed by the still cordoned off Old Chapel and headed for the edge of the village.
Mike got clear of the village and pulled his Jeep into an overgrown gateway that serviced a fallow field. The aluminium gate looked as if it hadn’t been opened in years. A mound of dirt had been dumped in front of it to stop trespassers accessing the field behind and over time the dirt had grassed over, weeds and large shasta daisies grew from the unkempt grass and a number of bumblebees were busy hopping from bud to bud collecting pollen. He left the engine running to keep the aircon pumping and settled down to listen. The bug had a range of just under two miles when turned to high broadcast power, it shortened the battery life considerably, but he'd wanted to be as far away from the village and the Horner place as possible. The signal strength indicator was on its last green bar, much further and it would dip to orange, then red and he'd be liable to pick up more static than anything.
He could hear the sounds of the house, feet on the hardwood floor, a door being opened, the sound of a cough. He’d been clear of the place for about five minutes but so far n
either had spoken within range of his device.
“Come on, come on,” he mumbled to himself in frustration and as he spoke something did come through, not a voice per se, more a humming. He adjusted the frequency a little fine tuning it, at 89.9 it came through clearer. It wasn’t a mechanical hum, but that of a person, a female, a girl. It was soft and melodic, and Mike racked his brain to try and remember what the tune was, but then the hum turned to a voice, soft and sweet, and Mike felt a chill run through him that was not born from the temperature in his Jeep. He knew the ditty, Claire used to sing or hum it to their daughter when she had fitful spells of sleep, which was often.
Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,
When then bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all
As the nursery rhyme reached the last few words, that soft voice began to chuckle. It lost its silken sound and cracked like an egg into a cackle that merged with the screaming sound of feedback, like someone holding a microphone too close to a speaker. Mike cried out in surprise as the high-pitched sound assaulted his ears and he dropped the receiver into his lap. The laugh had gone, now it was all the terrible screech of electrical interference, then through it came the same voice, faint yet there, as if being picked up from a distance, from a faraway place. It was the child again, her voice soft and yet now filled with menace,
Run – away – Mikeyyy, - run – away – all,
When – the -time -comes – you’ll – scream – and – you’ll - fall
And – die – you – will – Mikey – die – will – you – all!
Mike picked up the receiver from his lap, switched it off, then cast it into the footwell as if it were a poisonous animal that might render him a fatal bite. He engaged drive and gunned the accelerator, the wheels of his Jeep span on the gravel of the layby until they found purchase, catapulting him forward in a wake of dust. He snaked out onto the road and narrowly missed a family saloon heading the other way, the driver hit his horn as the two cars almost made contact. Mike raised a hand in apology and got the Jeep in a straight line, his breath coming in deep and rapid pants.
With his knuckles white from how hard he now clutched the wheel he shook his head in defiance as if trying to get the memory of what had just happened out of his brain, like a dog might shake water from his body after a swim. The incident at the hospital, in his room and now this had convinced him that whatever this was they were facing, be it Minister Deviss, or just the pure combined evil of the place born from the horrors that had purportedly happened there, it knew them. Whatever it was fucking knew them, and it knew they were close to the truth.
Chapter 36
Rob Harrison looked drained. His dark hair was dishevelled and messy and his face looked old and worn. The dark stubble of a day or two’s growth highlighted the paleness of his skin, and his eyes were the red of a drunk who’d spent too many nights looking for the answers to all his problems at the bottom of a whisky bottle. He sat on the foot of the bed in the Travel Lodge at ten-thirty AM that Monday morning still dressed in the grey joggers and matching t-shirt that he’d been given when they’d seized his clothing at the police station. Those red eyes looked questioningly at Mike, Tara and Scotty. They were the eyes of a man who’d endured all he could. In less than thirty-six hours he’d gone from being on a relaxing family holiday to losing his son and daughter, and now, following her steady slide into a state of catatonia, his wife Carol, whom following an assessment of her mental health whilst in custody at Plymouth, had been committed to Glenbourne Hospital. Catatonic Depression was the official diagnosis, a form of post-traumatic stress disorder that caused some patients to be totally unresponsive and locked into their own minds and unable to react to stimuli.
Whilst Mike had been out at the Horners’ place the day before, Tara had set about finding just which room the Harrisons had been staying in. She’d hung about in the lobby of the hotel drinking nasty vending machine coffee and feeling like, as she'd put it, a hooker waiting for her date, until the on-duty receptionist had been called away to resolve some issue with a guest’s towels. As soon as the coast was clear she’d brazenly hopped behind the counter and helped herself to the information from the reception’s computer terminal, that had helpfully not been locked by the young girl working at the time, and as an added bonus was on the booking screen. It had taken her less than thirty seconds to see that the Harrisons were booked into room 33 on the floor above. Then it had just been a matter of time until they were released. In that time Mike had called Sue Reed and updated her that all was well, and they were playing the waiting game now with the police. He’d not divulged to her all they had found out as he felt it may bestow further feelings of guilt on her, and that would be of no use to anyone.
Finally, and after a good deal longer than Mike foresaw, Rob Harrison had been released, not arriving back until eight AM that Monday morning, having spent a tad over thirty hours at the pleasure of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary. Following the call to Sue, Mike had recounted more than once what had happened out at the Horners’ cottage and what he'd heard on the listening device, chills goosebumping his flesh every time he went over what he’d picked up on the receiver. It had an auto-record function and would save anything to a micro SD card held in its side when on, he'd reluctantly played it back to them, only to find it had recorded nothing but the empty sound of static. Scotty had run the static through his Adobe Audition program, just in case something had been hidden behind that white noise, but there had been nothing. Still, neither of them had disbelieved him or thought him mad.
“All I want to do,” Rob Harrison said, looking at the three of them stood there in his room, “is try and get some sleep.” His voice was shell-like and hollow, the voice of a man with no hope. He smiled blankly at them, “Do you know I can’t even remember when I last slept, can you believe that?”
Mike dropped to his knees, so his face was level with that of Rob Harrison’s and said, “A few years ago my wife and daughter were killed, so when I say that I understand the pain you’re feeling right now, I do understand. I know how it feels to have something reach in and tear your life away leaving you with nothing.” Rob’s eyes met Mike’s and Mike knew that look only too well, it was the look of a man who’d been running through the unanswerable what if’s that were prone to drive you mad if you let them. Mike stood and pulled over a chair and sat by him. He placed a hand on his shoulder so that he’d meet his eyes.
“I know you,” Rob Harrison said flatly, his eyes moving between them all. "I thought you looked familiar when you knocked the door. Ellie watched your show." It wasn't lost on Mike how he'd referred to his daughter in the past tense, that wasn't a good sign, it was the sign of someone who'd already resigned himself to some terrible fact. "This is strange," he said, shaking his head from side-to-side slowly as if trying to make sense of some weird dream. "What are you even doing here, why did I Iet you in?"
“You let us in, Mr. Harrison because I told you we could help and that we had certain information that you had to hear.” The poor guy seemed detached; Mike had seen such confusion in dementia sufferers who would do something then not remember doing it. The long-term memory was there but they seemed to move around the present time in some kind of dream. Mike guessed that with Rob it was nothing more than his brain trying to cope with what he’d endured over the last few days.
“She loved that show of yours,” he continued. “Watched a few episodes with her when Carol was watching some of that trashy reality TV she loves so much. The crap that they chuck on year after year. You know the kind, I’m a Fading Celebrity, Save My Career,” he chuckled dryly at his own joke but there was no genuine humour in it. Like his voice it seemed empty. “You were a cop, right?”
Mike nodded, “I was, I still investigate, private cases not just the unexplained.”
“What are you doing getting involved in this?” he asked,
that total shell-shocked look of confusion still on his tired, pallid face. Confusion born from stress, almost three days with no sleep and the simple fact that even someone well rested and totally chilled might be a tad puzzled as to why three people he’d seen on TV were now stood in front of him offering their help.
“I’ve played this out in my head, how meeting you would go, the things I’d say, how you’d be and if you’d even let us through the door and hear us out. I thought about not coming, I – we, almost didn’t. But you need to know what we know.” Mike stood and went to the small bathroom that was a carbon copy of his own on the floor below and drew a glass of water from the sink then brought it back to Rob who took hold of it and smiled in appreciation. He didn’t drink it, though. “The people who own The Old Chapel,” he continued, sitting back down, “Sue and Tom Reed, asked us to investigate it once you and your family had left. I know in the face of what’s happening this sounds stupid, but please hear me out.” Rob Harrison didn’t speak, he just nodded for Mike to continue. “There have been some rather troubling reports of strange activity in there and many of their guests; well all but one actually, have left before the end of their stay because of it. There have been deaths, too. Suicides and one infant murder, not in the building, but acts done by people who have stayed there. It’s a very strange case.”
“As strange as my Ellie and Henry just vanishing into fucking thin air?” he asked with a hint of venom.
“No,” Mike said directly. “Shadow figures, crying that no one can explain. One young girl said a man had been in her room watching her, a dark man.”
Rob Harrison looked up from the glass and Mike knew that something he’d said had triggered the reaction. “What?” he asked. “Was it the mention on the dark man?”
Finally, Rob Harrison took a tentative sip from the glass and rubbed his lips together and Mike wondered how long it would be before the glass from which he drank contained something a little stronger than water. “The night that Ellie and Henry went missing she argued with Carol about Henry sleeping in her room. She said that he’d seen a man in his room the night we arrived and that he was too scared to sleep on his own. She dismissed it as a dream and basically told her not to be silly. I try to stay clear of their arguments, they don’t have many but when they do, you’d best be out the way. I took Henry up to the lounge, but we could still hear. He never said anything to me, though.”